


Harder, Sharper

by little_abyss



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Biting, Consensual Kink, M/M, Oral Fixation, Porn with Feelings, Teeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 02:31:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6405124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/pseuds/little_abyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anders is fascinated by Fenris' teeth, and what they might do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harder, Sharper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shinyhill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinyhill/gifts).



> Thank you, shinyhill, you terrible influence, you. *Squeezy hug* I hope you like the way this puppy came out.

The pink tongue comes out to slide quickly over the bottom lip.  Anders gets a glimpse of those teeth, so sharp, so white, before Fenris closes his mouth again.  But that half second is enough, enough of a glimpse to send images into his mind - his own freckled skin, cream and umber and pink by turns, with the reddened ring of indentations upon it in the shape of Fenris’ mouth.  He imagines the swipe of tongue on flesh, the heat of mouths, and Anders opens his own mouth involuntarily, not knowing what he will say when Fenris asks, “What, mage?”

 

“I… uh, I was just thinking.” Anders says, careful to keep the cadence of his voice even.  Hawke is asleep with her head on the table,  _ their  _ table, here in the back of the Hanged Man.  Varric and Isabela are giggling drunkenly, absorbed by whatever they are doing with sheets of parchment and quills. Merrill is mooning about, staring at the pictures painted onto the walls. Aveline is long since gone; Sebastian never bothered to show up at all.  Fenris leans a little closer to Anders, a fractional distance, but to Anders the implication hidden somewhere in that cryptic facial expression - well, it is huge.  Fenris narrows his eyes without dropping his gaze from Anders’, then drags his top teeth over his bottom lip, slowly, slowly.  He catches it between his teeth, and Anders swallows as he watches the elf bite upon the soft flesh as he smirks.  Finally, Fenris asks, “Really?  And what were you thinking about?”

 

“Did you know a cat's bite can kill you?” Anders blurts suddenly, his mind now reeling with possibility.  “True fact!  If they break the skin, I mean, they’re filthy little bastards really, awash with illness, and if they bite you hard enough, you can get a really horrid fever and… and…”

“Hmm,” Fenris purrs, and slides closer still along the bench toward Anders. “Fascinating.”

The pout of lips, the kiss of teeth for the sibilant hiss, the dance of tongue across palate; Anders watches Fenris’ mouth move to make this word.  

“Oh yes,” he says, hardly aware of what he’s saying, “Very fatal, in serious cases.  Human, uh, or elf, dwarf bites, too, extremely toxic.  Same sort of thing.”  He grins, weakly, “All filthy bastards, you know.”

“I know.” Those bold green eyes, the hands (hands? He cannot remember ever having seen Fenris without his gauntlets) one on the table, one close, so close to Anders thigh, there on the bench seat. Anders takes a deep breath, holds it and says, “Nnrrgh.”

 

Fenris smiles, teeth brilliant, eldritch in the low light.  “What is it, mage?”

“It’s your… your…”

“My what?”  Those words, they are a spike, a spike that pins him to the spot, caught like an insect by his eyes on those teeth, those bright white teeth.  The visions rise behind his eyes once more, making his toes curl and clench inside his boots.  He is helpless not to, he moves closer to Fenris.  He leans in, closer, closer, approaching his mouth to Fenris’ ear, Fenris, who is not pulling away.   Anders mutters, “Your teeth.  I want… would you..?”

A moment.  Then, “Like this?” 

 

And with that, Fenris turns his head sharply to the juncture of Anders’ neck and shoulder, just inside of the high collar of his cloak.  He bites, hard, on the skin there, and Anders stifles a gasp.  He can feel the rush of adrenaline through his blood, feel his heart thrum faster and his cock… well.  As the new bruise blossoms, the blood welling beneath his skin under Fenris’ teeth, as his fingers clutch at the fabric of his trousers, his cock twitches, then begins to stiffen.  The tension is so intense, the pain so exquisite, that Anders has to shut his eyes against it.  After a moment longer, however, Fenris removes his mouth from Anders’ neck.  Anders, oblivious to everything except the cooling spit on his neck and the blaring throb of the bite, whispers, “More?”

“Not here,” Fenris smiles, “Come with me.”

-|||-

Anders does not remember the walk through the midnight city.  He seems to come to himself with Fenris removing his clothes, gently, piece by well-worn piece.  They are standing in the dim moonlight of what must have once been a guest bedroom, due to the fine hangings over the bed, the rich tapestries on the wall.  But as his clothes are peeled away, Anders’ care for his surroundings is somehow narrowed to a pinpoint of attention, all of which is reserved for Fenris.  Fenris’ hands on his clothes as they deftly undo buttons and cords, until the long fingers graze across his flesh; Fenris’ eyes, blazing in the white moonlight, reflecting back the desperation that Anders now feels.  His breath feels short in his chest, his mouth dry, but still he manages to smile wryly and ask, “Don’t you want to set some expectations?  I mean… shouldn’t we talk about this first?”

Fenris’ fingers pause halfway through undoing the knots on Anders’ trousers.  “Yes,” he says, a little grudgingly.  “I suppose we should.”  A pause, then, with irritation in his tone, Fenris says, “Talk then, mage.”

 

“Alright then,” Anders smirks, “ _ I’ll _ talk.  What are we  _ doing _ ?  I thought… I mean, if you want to have sex with me, that’s fine, and I mean, I can’t say that I’m not rather captivated.  You’re rather captivating.”  He sighs, and rubs at the bite on his neck, still tender.  “But… this isn’t a  _ thing _ , is it?”

“I don’t know.  Is it?”

They stare at each other for a moment, and Anders blinks.   _ Keep it simple, leave the thinking for later _ , he tells himself, and then says, “I don’t know.  I suppose it… it could be.  But I do know that…”

“Enough.  You wanted to set conditions? Here are mine. I don't want to have sex with you. Not… Not tonight.  I want to make you come, yes - but I want to do it just using…” Fenris clears his throat and glances away momentarily, and Anders feels a flare of sympathy. Then Fenris looks back into Anders eyes and tells him, “I just want to use my teeth and tongue and lips on you.  Do you want this, or not?”  Fenris glares up at him and says harshly, “I will not hurt you against your will.  I will not draw blood, or leave any marks where they might be seen.  Tell me to stop, and I will.  You can trust me on that.”  Fenris blinks, then takes a breath.  Then he tells Anders,  “And unless you have anything you’d like to add, either close your mouth, or go away.”

 

Anders closes his mouth.  Fenris regards him for a moment, eyes narrowed, then his lip curls in a satisfied smile.  “Good.  Now get out of those idiot trousers of yours, because I cannot undo the knots.  Then get on the bed.”

Anders presses his lips together, biting on them to hold back the retort.  He quickly divests himself of his trousers, leaving them puddled on the floor and stands for a moment, awkward, naked in the moonlight.  Fenris is still fully clothed, and Anders looks at him, his head cocked.  “Aren’t you…” he begins, gesturing toward Fenris, but all he gets is an arched eyebrow and a look which cuts pointedly toward the bed.  

 

He doesn’t have to be told twice.  The coverlet feels like velvet, worn to smooth softness in places, dark in the dim light.  Anders crawls almost all the way to the head of the bed, acutely aware of his nakedness, of the feel of Fenris’ gaze upon him.  He turns, sitting, drawing his knees to his chest, strangely coy.  He licks his lips, watching Fenris as Fenris watches him.  Slowly, Fenris follows him up onto the bed, his motions very like that of a large cat stalking its prey.  Anders swallows back his nervousness and stifles a laugh.  He cocks his head when Fenris sits on his haunches and studies him, and then as he opens his mouth to say something, anything, Fenris says, “Tell me to stop if it’s too much, or too painful.  Alright?”

Anders nods, and Fenris continues to stare at him.  Finally, Anders gets the picture and mutters, “Fine, fine.”

“Good.  Now lie down on your back.”

 

Anders wiggles down a little bit, then does as he’s been asked.  The texture of the coverlet is rich, warm against his back, and the moonlight is silver and gunmetal by turns as the clouds move silently against the deep blue-black of the night sky.  He tenses a little when he feels Fenris shift on the bed, shunting his legs apart with his body.  Anders looks away, wanting, needing the anticipation, and then gasps at the sensation of a light touch on his leg.  It is Fenris’ hand, and it moves around Anders’ knee, then down to the calf.  Anders holds his breath, waiting, trying very hard not to move to watch what Fenris is doing. He feels Fenris shift again, feels the ghosting of breath against his skin, then whimpers as Fenris draws a line of gentle scrapes down the ridge of his shin bone with his teeth..  

 

Fenris shifts again, bending over Anders’ prone body, murmuring quietly in between the movements of his mouth.  And with every scrape, every pinch of flesh between teeth, every gust of warm breath and swipe of tongue, Anders grows harder.  It feels, it feels like worship this, it feels as if he’s being subsumed into Fenris, no inch of his body off limits to that tongue, those teeth.  As if it is not enough for Fenris to simply look at him - he must touch, taste as well.  He glances up, watching the shadows crawl silently over the ceiling, feeling Fenris moving his way up, now kissing over his knee cap, circling the bone with his tongue.  Up he shifts again, and then suddenly, Fenris bites into the large muscle over the top of Anders’ thigh.  The teeth draw closed, just over the place where the two muscles join, and the pain is so immense, so perfect, that Anders cannot help his yelp.  His hands go up, into Fenris’ hair, and the cry turns into a moan, slowly spiralling as Fenris decreases the pressure of his bite.  

 

Slowly, torturously slow, Fenris moves his mouth away.  “Too much?” he asks quietly, and the words sent whispers of breath over the warm spit and bruised skin.

“Nuh.  More,” is all Anders manages, and strokes Fenris’ head.  Fenris nuzzles into his hand briefly, and smiles wryly at Anders where he lays against the pillows.  Moving with more purpose now, he kisses his way up a little further up Anders leg, then shifts to the other side of his body, moving down the other side.  When he reaches the same place that he had bitten on the opposing leg, he hovers for a second, and Anders tenses in expectation.  But Fenris moves away slowly, then sits up.

 

He sits in the juncture of Anders’ open legs and pushes his hair back from his face.  Steadily, he looks at Anders, there in the moonlight.  His skin glows, what there is that is visible - brown and blue-white, and Anders feels the weight of all the things unsaid, all the tension between them.  It sits there, a stone on his chest, and he wishes things were different.  Fenris’ jaw clenches, and his ears droop momentarily, until he rallies and smiles a little.  Anders opens his mouth, wanting to say something, but Fenris’ smile grows and he puts a hand on Anders’ naked thigh, and tells him quietly, “I know.”

 

And… and Anders is not sure why, but this relieves the weight upon him, makes him feel lighter.  He smiles back, and Fenris circles his arms about himself and undoes the ties which bind his chestplate.  He drops it with a clang over the side of the bed, then removes his undershirt.  In the moonlight, Anders sees the swirls and loops on his skin for what they are; scars, cut deep and ridged where the skin has attempted to heal over the lyrium inside it.  Some of the edges are puckered slightly where the healing has not been accomplished quickly - many of the scars are raised; some are blurred where the lyrium has not been contained properly or has leeched out into Fenris’ skin over the years.   _ Pity _ , Justice tells him,  _ Pity is what you feel.  I recognise this.  Pity is a worthless emotion.  This elf seeks that which we seek - together, take action against those who would oppress you.  A single stick alone is easily broken - a bundle of twigs may not be broken but by the strongest hand. _

 

Anders sighs.   _ I know, _ he tells Justice placatingly.  But the spirit still hovers, coiling and uncoiling like a Moebius pattern, and without realising it, Anders thinks,  _ Just let me have this.  Just once _ .  Fenris is watching him, biting his lower lip, and he smiles at the elf in what he hopes is a reassuring fashion.  As Justice recedes slightly, Fenris smiles back, and raises off his haunches to crawl closer, now on hands and knees, straddling Anders’ hips.  Anders feels his breath grow short, laboured, as Fenris leans down, nuzzling under his jaw, lathing at the bruise on Anders’ neck, which makes him gasp.  “Fen...Fenris,” he says, clenching his fists, “Do that again.”

 

“No,” Fenris mutters, and moves down, sliding his teeth now along Anders’ collarbone where it juts, the skin sensitive and thin. Down, he moves down further, lips and tongue nuzzling along Anders’ bicep, into the crook of his elbow where he sucks at the skin until Anders gasps again and groans, then Fenris rises, onto hands and knees now, taking Anders hand, taking the fingers into his mouth, smiling around them as he suckles gently on each one in turn.  His mouth is warm, wet, and as his tongue curls around each digit, Anders is helpless not to arch his hips up, trying to rut against Fenris, anything, anything.  But Fenris pulls himself up higher, out of reach, smiling around Anders’ littlest finger and shakes his head.  

 

“Oh, come on,” Anders whines, and Fenris laughs.  His laughter is deep and completely without malice.  He shakes his head again and relinquishes Anders’ hand from his mouth.  He turns the hand over, looking at it, then kisses the palm gently.  “Ready for more?” he asks quietly, then nips lightly at Anders’ wrist.

 

Anders can only nod.  He closes his eyes, concentrating on the sensations; the deep, luxurious feel of the fabric, the almost stifling warmth of the room, the bright, vibrant heat of Fenris’ body, echoing and feeding the blaze of his own desire.  His breath hitches as he feels Fenris move, feels him bend and loom over his chest for a second, the softness of his breath over a nipple and then  _ oh, oh _ , he bites again, hard, pulling the skin around the nipple up with his teeth, flicking it hard with his tongue.  Anders cries out in pleasure, in torment, his world narrowing to that scoring heat on his chest, his hands going to Fenris’ hips, using the weight of the elf to drag himself up, but the elf’s cock is out of reach, just anything, anything, but there is nothing.  Maker, no, not nothing, but this searing ache and burn and it is too much, the pleasure, the pain it arches and it is as if the world breaks open with it, and he is not aware of himself, of the noises he makes or how his eyes blaze blue in the blankness, how Fenris’ forearms strain as he digs bruising fingers into the skin of Anders hips as Anders bucks as he comes, as he cries Fenris’ name.

 

Slowly, the world returns.  At first, there is only the moon, staring at them, bloated and bright, through the window.  Then Anders becomes aware of the pain, dull and throbbing, in his chest, his thigh, his neck and the crook of his elbow.  Justice curls and uncurls within him, restless, seething, and slowly, he rubs at the bite mark on his chest, feels the indentations of Fenris’ teeth in his skin.  Fenris blinks at him lazily, propped up on an elbow, then he smiles and says, “You’ve made a mess.”

 

“Filthy bastards, remember?” Anders croaks, and then groans.  “Fenris… I…” 

But Fenris shushes him.  Slowly, he sits up and swings his legs off the bed.  Feeling curiously bereft at the loss of his weight in the bed beside him, Anders watches as Fenris pads to a large armoire, pulling what was once a very fine dark silk robe from it.  He returns to the bed, climbs back onto it, and proceeds to clean the spend from Anders skin.  The cloth is light, Fenris is gentle, and Anders sighs.  When he has cleaned Anders to his satisfaction, Fenris looks at him coyly, and smiles.  “Lift your arm,” he says, and looks away.

 

Frowning slightly, Anders does.  Fenris looks back at him quickly, and then, without a word, lays down, his head cushioned at the top of Anders’ chest.  He puts one hand on Anders ribs, and mutters, “You can put your arm down now.”

Anders chuckles, and puts his arm down, around Fenris’ shoulders.  It feels… so strange, so right.  He sighs quietly, the warm weight of Fenris’ body curled against him, and says, “Look… thank you. I know… it’s odd, but…”

“I thought I told you to close your mouth,” Fenris says, but his voice is warm, almost kind.  There is a pause, and then he asks, “Are you cold?”

 

“No,” Anders tells him.  “No.  Not any more.”

“Good.”  Fenris wriggles a little closer, and slowly, his breathing shallows.  The moonlight dims as a cloud passes over the sky, and Anders blinks up at the ceiling, wondering what they will say to each other in the morning.  And then he smiles, rubs at the bruise on his chest, and squeezes Fenris gently to him.  Tomorrow is another day.

**Author's Note:**

> [I tumble here](http://littlexabyss.tumblr.com/). Come say hey.


End file.
